


Words Stumble Before I Start

by sexonastick



Category: Actor RPF, The Runaways (2010) RPF
Genre: F/F, Insecurity, Paparazzi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-25
Updated: 2012-08-25
Packaged: 2017-11-12 20:20:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/495281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexonastick/pseuds/sexonastick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kristen has never been good with pressure, and they're called "the press" for a reason.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words Stumble Before I Start

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written February 11th, 2011.

> _This actress who can sing, with a sister in the business, just got out of a really intense emotional relationship with another female costar from a movie. She's technically not bisexual, but she could have been, for her actress costar that broke her heart by putting the brakes on their affair._ \- Blind Item posted 12/01/2010

*

Jodie gives the best advice, and she smells like something rich and heavy. She puts an arm around Kristen at a premier and draws her in close, whispering. 

_Mahogany_ , Kristen thinks, and leans into the touch. _Like leather bound books, and dusty libraries._

She gives good advice, but maybe it's all out of date. Jodie grew up in a time, after all, where the secret things people said about you weren't just a few mouse clicks away. When cameras didn't fit into your pocket and news ran in cycles of 24 hours, not 60 minutes.

"Keep something for yourself," she says. "There's got to be a part of you that's still you."

But which part is left over? After the glamor shots and the press conferences, the flash bulbs and red carpets, the cell phone shots at JFK or the guy outside her hotel door in San Francisco, who's the girl they leave behind?

The camera bulbs snap and her vision loses its focus. The world softens at its edges, collapsing slowly inward.

*

_"People are really funny about, 'Well, you chose to be an actor, why don't you just fucking give your whole life away?'"_  


*

Fans are the worst. They're the reason she's here, the reason the job exists, but they're the absolute worst.

It probably wouldn't be so bad if she were capable of caring as little as she tries to project, but Kristen still looks it up. At least once a week she's hitting up google, wondering what other people see when they look at Kristen Stewart. Man-jaw, right? Too angry girl with too much of a stutter. Why can't she just enjoy life for once? She's so miserable and ungrateful.

There's probably some positive stuff out there, but it never seems to be at the top of the search page. The only good news is always Rob related. 

That's also about 70% of the bad. Either they're head over heels, or they're on the outs. Once she even got to learn about an emotional breakdown she didn't even know she'd had on set. Apparently she cried in her trailer for hours.

That's before she even gets to the comments.

Art's supposed to be about pain. If you're attractive -- and even with the jutting jaw, the pale face, and big teeth, Kristen knows she isn't ugly -- then all the angst has to come from being a total freak, and at least she's got that part nailed down tight.

Kristen is a freak, but the bad news is that it shows. Other people know it too, even if they can't quite put words to what they're seeing. _Angry,_ they say. _She's so angry all the time._

It's like the whispers back in high school but running over on a loop, on every newsstand and gossip blog.

_How can you be on a big screen when you barely want to look in a mirror?_ The whole point is the projection. The other self. The space outside of being you so that you don't have to hate how life feels from the inside out. Just a quick vacation from reality.

It's not that she's self-loathing. Really, she's not. It's just sometimes she thinks life would be easier if she were someone else, outside of Kristen, and this Kristen person could go on with business as usual and she could have a body for rent -- like Freaky Friday.

She could go out in public holding hands with someone and nobody else would know or care. She could have a meal with a friend and not have it mean anything. She could make mistakes, be impulsive. She could have impulses other than _run, run, RUN_ on its own billboard sized loop, always playing in the back of her head.

*

Dakota never pulls on Kristen's hair. Instead she pets it, stroking and twisting it around her fingers. She pokes and prods, saying, "You do _own_ shampoo, right?"

Kristen does, and sometimes she makes efforts to remember to use it. Sometimes she can pretend to care, even though she doesn't. She just can't bring herself to invest in the image, doesn't want to be that person or play their little games of what to wear or how to stand. She'll slouch if she wants to, fuck you very much.

But Dakota cares. She cares about those little things like hair and makeup. She's never yelled at a member of the paparazzi or flicked them off at a street corner. She actually worries how that will look once it hits the web. Other people's opinion is something Dakota manages to care a lot about.

She cares about shoes way more than Kristen does too. She cares about _Kristen_ , bizarrely enough. 

And not just for that lost little puppy thing a lot of people see in her, though sometimes when Dakota starts her fussing it can be harder to tell. Kristen tries to shy away from the prodding and inspection but Dakota hooks a hand in her jacket pocket and pulls her back in.

"Don't tug so hard," Kristen mumbles without making eye contact. It's leather, after all, and maybe she's worrying that Dakota underestimates her own strength or it could be that it's Kristen's impulse to run that Dakota doesn't know the full extent of yet. There are a lot of things that make her jumpy, and proximity's not the only one.

There are so many things in life to be afraid of, and Kristen could compile you a list but she'd probably get distracted halfway through.

Like how right now she's thinking that Dakota's got one of those faces that you expect to see on artwork from ancient civilizations. Her nose and cheeks are all drawn downward in sloped lines, like she belongs on a vase. It's unreal and up this close with her smile almost creasing the edge of Kristen's jaw, it's only amplified. 

It's because of Dakota's features that her mouth is so appealing. There's almost something egyptian to her, that sly smile like a cat. 

"So you _do_ care about _some_ things," Dakota says with a hand in Kristen's front hip pocket. There's no way to tell how exactly it got there.

Kristen's thinking she should notice a thing like that

This is probably what it feels like for a fish in a glass bowl, Dakota's face refracting and magnified until she is all of Kristen's world.

*

"Why can't I just have a stalker?" Kristen says, her mouth twitching in an effort at a smile, but she gives up on it quickly. Dakota doesn't look amused, so it isn't worth the trouble.

"You probably do."

"Wouldn't someone tell me?"

"No. It's their job not to tell you those things."

"Lie to me, you mean."

It must be hard having a conversation with her. Nothing comes easy, not even words. For such a neurotic, Kristen knows she's got a hell of a lot of pride. She's like a cat: shoulders jerking, hackles raised, and a short hiss of air against the back of her teeth.

But just one long look from Dakota and she relents, shaking her head, fingers fidgeting through her own hair. Fighting's in her nature, but she's learning slowly to choose her targets better.

Her timing is still too wide of the mark, though.

"You don't take anything seriously." 

Sometimes Dakota's words are like another person. Or they're an animal running, and Kristen's the hunter. She's got to stalk her prey, track it, and maybe then if she catches it she'll know what the hell that means or where it came from. Where the misstep was.

In the meantime, she has to squint, staring into that far off place above everyone's eye-line where answers don't actually reside. "I take some-- Well." But arguing isn't the answer, she knows that, so instead she provides her own answers. Facts. "I take _you_ seriously."

The look Dakota gives her is steady and piercing, carefully weighing the words and taking the measure of her. Kristen thinks to herself that Dakota is probably good at baking. She can make cookies without burning them or making them flavorless and dry.

"Yeah, I guess you do."

Kristen wants so much to reach for her now, bridging the gaps between their words with movement. She wants to touch Dakota at the back of her ear, the base of her neck, the side of her face and know the way her mouth feels against the tip of Kristen's fingers.

But this is the outside world, and there's always someone watching. Kristen's leg jogs a few times, up and down up and down, and she pushes hair back behind her own ear.

Dakota politely pretends not to notice the anxiety, turning quietly back to her lunch.

*

_"I was glad to leave school. I couldn't relate to kids my own age. They are mean, they don't give you a chance."_  


*

Life would be easier with a stalker. She doesn't want anyone scary or psychotic; make it just some harmless guy the press can write about for a while to link the words "Kristen Stewart" with anyone male who isn't her admittedly kind of girly costar.

Because that's the problem, isn't it? That's the root of every near fucking breakdown she's ever had.

Trendy as it is to be the hot new gay guy or whatever, being a dyke is the kind of thing people whisper about. It's the kind of thing they write about in blogs and it makes them say catty things in notes shoved in your locker.

A stalker is a reasonable diversion. That's the oldest trick in the illusionist handbook. Pay no attention to that queer behind the closet's curtain; please direct your attention away from center stage to some guy masturbating off in the wings.

It worked for Jodie, right? Middle America still loves her. She gets to have her life, her wife, and her Oscars all coexisting in the same timeline. Just find yourself a guy nutty enough to get a hard-on for a hopeless cause and you're set.

It might sound crazy if you over-analyze, but the relief would be so immense. Like an atomic bomb going off that puts everything else into perspective and makes everyone treat the rest of humanity like they're really human. Maybe then people would give her room to breathe. Even just for a little while.

Just give her a few fucking inches that are still her own.

And if she can choose, if this is the kind of thing where Kristen still gets to have a choice that's really hers, let it be the first three inches at the small of Dakota's back.

* 

Morning is when Dakota is at her most human. For one thing, her hair actually _isn't_ perfect when she first wakes up.

It'll be fine about ten minutes later, sure, but when she first lifts her head from the pillow, it's in tangles. Sometimes her shirt is creased or shifted strangely so that it's half on and off one shoulder.

She even gets bad breath.

She's different in the morning, but not in a bad way. Mortality suits her.

She says, "Plans today?" and her words are strangely rounded and blurred in a yawn. Like ink smudged under a thumb.

"I don't like _plans_." Instead of air quotes, Kristen uses drawling derision. "They're so restricting."

"Okay."

Dakota's so agreeable in the morning. 

Kristen brings her coffee in bed and kisses her shoulder. "You?"

When she shrugs, Kristen can feel the movement under her cheek. "Here's nice." Dakota smiles a little and runs her fingers through the loose strands of hair against Kristen's cheek and forehead. "Unrestricted is fine."

Her fingers skate across the planes of Kristen's face, like a geographer mapping out new territory. Maybe if she looks closely for a long enough time, she'll find another person hidden inside there. A second skin to slip into would be a solution to nearly every single problem. If Kristen were someone else, she could hold Dakota's hand walking in public. They could go to the park, eat an apple on the grass. 

But Dakota's probably not the type to be too cool with grass stains anyway. So it's okay. It's just fine.

Until it's not.

*

_"Once you have done with school, you realized it's just a smaller version of life."_  


* 

They're on the patio, sunglasses on, each with their own glass of tea. That's supposed to keep you calm, right, but Kristen's knee is still bouncing and her feet won't stop moving in and out of her flip flops. 

"Well, actually," Kristen starts, and then stops again. Her hands are so wet from condensation off the glass that when she wipes them on the edge of her shirt, it leaves a mark. "I think we should talk."

Already she's starting things off on the wrong foot, she can tell, because before the words are even all the way out Dakota's eyes are flickering with a vague understanding. This is Very Bad, as any conversation that starts out that way really needs to be in the end.

"I'm not--" Kristen starts, but has to begin again. "This isn't." But that's no better either.

This isn't how she meant for this to go.

But life gets that way sometimes. It gets fucked up and it moves too fast. Like Dakota's hand reaching across the table to catch Kristen's wrist and squeeze. "Hey--" She's so quick.

But Kristen's heart is beating faster than her head can keep up and her legs are moving already. She shoves her sunglasses on and pushes Dakota away. "Sorry, I forgot." She's mumbling, almost choking on her own words. "Just an interview, I-- I've got to go."

* 

They noticed Nikki, too. She isn't sure how, but she knows that they did. Kristen's concern is almost compulsive and she's terrified of what other people might do with her truths. The thought of some stranger perving out over her and Dakota makes her almost sick with guilt.

She can't feel anything but guilty, because it's always her ruining the equation after all. The rumors haven't followed Dakota around since she was a kid, and why would they? She's perfect. 

Wherever the angst for Dakota's art comes from, she buries it deep down inside herself. Sometimes Kristen thinks that maybe she could touch it with her fingertips, just give her time, but all that is simply over now. It has to be. 

The phone rings, but she lets it go to voice mail. It's better this way in the end. It's kinder. 

She wouldn't even know what to say. _"I'm sorry that I brought this into your life,"_ or even just _"hey, I'll see you on set"_ clearly isn't going to cut it. How do you apologize for being born transparent? 

If she knew how to disguise herself as someone else -- someone normal and perfect -- then she clearly fucking would, but it's the reason that everyone hates Bella, right, because Kristen can't fake normal, and she doesn't _do_ happy. Love is alright, it's fine, until it isn't and what's left behind is spoiled and rotting.

*

If the tabloids are to be believed, she's pregnant now. You have to at least hope that the imaginary baby would be Rob's, so that they can stay imaginary monogamous. If she's got to be knocked up at 20, Kristen would at least prefer not to be called a whore.

But they -- that nebulous and terrifyingly unknown "them" -- are probably going to call her that anyway.

She and Rob are desperately in love, they're having romantic dinners by candlelight, and sometimes that's even true. The dinners are anyway. Kristen's always been a girl with a big appetite, even if sometimes she doesn't manage more than a bite or two before her unsteady stomach revolts.

There aren't any candles, of course, but there's the food and Taylor's there, too. He's smiling, because that's what he does. He laughs and tells a story from the day on set. 

Rob is smiling too, indulging, because the very best thing about Taylor is how he almost makes you forget all the bullshit. He's like a puppy that can _talk_ , just wriggly and happy and all the serious grown up people problems just melt away.

So Rob smiles and Kristen tries it on herself, but the edges are so brittle that she's aware all over again of her own transparency, like glass that's about to shatter. She covers her mouth with her hand so she can pretend that there's a normal person's face under there somewhere. She catches Rob watching out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn't ask.

He knows better than to ask. It wasn't something she recognized in him at first, but Rob knows more than most about the things you set aside because of expectation. He really _gets_ it. So when she acts like a spaz knocking over silverware when standing, he just smiles graciously and picks up her fork.

"I think you dropped this."

"Apparently, yeah."

Taylor is still laughing, eyes bright. He stands too and offers Kristen his hand, ever the gentleman. She waves him off with a few quick movements, swatting her entire arm from side to side like a windshield wiper's blade. "I'm-- No. I'm fine." 

She smiles and it's still all wrong, but by now that's almost normal. The safe other person whose skins she gets to wear is the one nobody likes: Socially Inept Girl. With secret super powers of life ruining.

Kristen checks her own reflection in the bathroom mirror. She doesn't bother checking out of any sense of vanity, but just to see if she's still here. Testing, one two. 

Her phone is going off again, but it's only set to vibrate. Just a small tremor close to her hip to remind her of who's missing. She pushes her hands down in her pockets and feels it buzz as Dakota drops off into voicemail. Same time, every night. What's that thing about broken clocks and twice a day? 

Because even when she's warm and kind -- and that would be just about always -- Dakota is still their perfect wind up girl. She's almost robotic in how she comes together. Every aspect is exact, every career move perfectly aligned and in time. 

The precision of her existence would be astonishing to just about anyone, but to Kristen it's like nuclear physics. 

She was never so hot at science. It's all about seeing order in the chaos. Kristen excels at the inverse. Find the root cause of things, or amble around in the dark for a while running your fingers along the wall until you find the light switch. She's the clumsy one stumbling with both feet planted firmly on ground she can't even see. 

And sometimes, she even prefers the dark.

All she really remembers about exact science is opposite reactions and attractions. Energy is never lost, it's just transferred. 

But if that's true, then where the fuck did her happiness go? Kristen's capacity for affection has been evicted from her own heart and head.

Must be that Dakota was the only one who remembered to pay the bills on time.

* 

"I'm not going to beg," the voicemail says.

"Good."

Dakota's voice continues, saying, "I don't know what your problem is. I thought I'd worked it all out, but--" And Kristen looks up, waiting. Anticipating. "I still know you better than you think. But it's your issue, not mine."

"You're right." Her voice feels raw, paper thin. 

"So I'm not going to beg or make excuses." The voice waits, and for just a moment she's so damn human. For a moment, she falters, and Kristen can _hear_ her swallow. She closes her eyes and sees Dakota's face, mouth split in a slanted grin and head reclining back against the pillows on Kristen's bed, her throat constricting and--

"Excuses are your deal. Not mine."

Kristen can't answer that, not even on impulse. If she picks up the phone, there will be no one there. That's why the silent ring and messages, everything straight to a dead end. She can't trust herself any other way. 

Not enough impulse control and shockingly strong self-preservation instincts. 

Dakota's voice is like a life preserver; it's hard to just let go when you risk drowning, even if it's only in sorrow instead of salt water.

"I miss you," says the tiny voice on the line, and then it clicks dead. 

The room is silent except for the sounds of Kristen's heart beating. She hears it in her ears and filling up the spaces between her words when she whispers, "I miss you too."

> All quotes from Kristen Stewart in various interviews.  
> 


End file.
